


Made to Measure

by Emospritelet



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Eventual Smut, F/M, Resolved Sexual Tension, Rumbelle Christmas in July
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-07-22
Packaged: 2018-07-22 12:35:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7439575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emospritelet/pseuds/Emospritelet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Actress!Belle needs a dress for the premiere of her first big Hollywood film.  Her co-star Ariel points her to fashion designer!Gold, who runs an up-and-coming fashion house with his flamboyant partner Ella Deville.  Belle is instantly attracted to him but fears he doesn't see beyond the silk he drapes her in.  Eventual smut and NO ANGST!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Made to Measure

**Author's Note:**

  * For [unknowntrombone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknowntrombone/gifts).



> This is my Secret Santa gift for Rumbelle Christmas in July written for unknowntrombone (@dr-rushs-glasses on tumblr).  Her prompt was “fashion designer Gold, actress Belle”.  I had a lot of fun writing this, and it ran away from me, but I really enjoyed it.  I hope you enjoy it too.

****It was almost inevitable, when the darkly handsome Gaston Legume was cast as Lord Matthew Charlesworth in the period drama _The Ruby Locket_ , that Belle French would star alongside him.  Belle had enjoyed a short but successful career in the UK theatre scene and with starring roles in film adaptations of classic novels.  It had taken her a little while to find her feet in Los Angeles, but after several parts in smaller, independent films, she had finally hit the big time.  She and Gaston had acted opposite one another in supporting roles in a previous movie, and the director David Nolan had specifically requested them as leads for his new picture.  Her role was that of Katherine, the devoted young commoner who would save Lord Charlesworth from the nefarious schemes of his murderous uncle, and win his heart.  

Belle had made her home in L.A. almost two years earlier after a bitter and very public breakup with her fiancé.  She was happy to get the exposure provided by her starring role, of course, and even happier to have Ariel Del Mar as her supporting actress, playing Charlesworth’s young sister Elizabeth.  The two of them had become good friends during filming, and now that shooting had finished and the editing process had begun, they could relax and wait for the premiere.  

* * *

 It had been another warm Californian spring day, and the evening was pleasantly cool in comparison.  Belle and Ariel were seated on stools in _Ursula’s_ , a trendy bar with an undersea theme, the waiting staff dressed as merpeople, sparkling sequined tails in silver and blue and green swishing behind them as they walked to and fro with trays of drinks.  Floor-to-ceiling tanks of bright tropical fish provided a calming, bluish light around the edges of the room, interspersed with neon.  The fish flitted back and forth across the tanks, yellow and blue and striped black and white, darting and ducking behind the artificial rocks and shells.  Lights shining through the water cast a soothing glow across the sand-coloured floor and the booths shaped like curving pieces of coral.  The whole bar had an organic, natural feel to it, with a pleasant atmosphere, and it had become a favourite place for Belle and Ariel to unwind.

Ariel flicked back her long red hair and smiled at the bartender as their drinks were set in front of them, and Belle took hers with a sigh of contentment.  

“God, I’ve been looking forward to this!” said Ariel fervently, and Belle grinned at her.

“Nice to be able to get pleasantly drunk without worrying about night shoots, huh?” she remarked, and Ariel nodded sagely as she slurped at her martini.

Belle took a swallow of her own drink.  The martini had just the right amount of vermouth, which was almost none, and she plucked the olive from its cocktail stick, chewing it contentedly, salty juices trickling into her mouth and running down her throat.

“What are you wearing for the premiere?” asked Ariel, and Belle frowned.

“I don’t know,” she mused.  “Given that it’s my first major lead this side of the pond, I guess I should get something special.”

“You _have_ to go to G and D.”  

Ariel stirred her martini, popping the olive into her mouth and chewing, and Belle frowned.

“G and D?” she asked, puzzled, and Ariel rolled her eyes.

“Gold and Deville,” she explained.  “A small house, but they’re really making a name for themselves.”

“I’ve heard of them,” said Belle slowly.  “Fairly new to L.A., aren’t they?”

“I think they’ve only been over here a year or so,” confirmed Ariel, taking another drink.  “They started out in London, and their dresses are _amazing_!”

“I don’t know,” said Belle, in skeptical tones.  “If it’s who I’m thinking of, I heard Zelena bad-mouthing them the other day.  She said the designer was really rude.”

Ariel rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, and I bet Zelena was all sweetness and light with them,” she snorted.  “You know what a diva she can be!  She still hasn’t forgiven me for getting cast as Elizabeth while she got to play the mute handmaiden!”

Belle giggled.  

“She made up for the lack of dialogue once cameras stopped rolling, for sure,” she agreed.     

Ariel took another swallow of her martini, making a noise of pleasure as she did so, and shook back her hair again.

“Seriously, Belle, come with me to go see them,” she said.  “Their designs are _incredible_.  Did you see that red one Regina Mills wore to the Oscars?”

Belle could remember the dress, of course.  Regina Mills had been on the cover of every fashion magazine the following morning, stunningly beautiful in sweeping folds of red silk.  Her interest in the designers responsible increased, and she grinned at Ariel.

“Okay, tell me more,” she said, and took another slurp, the warm kick of alcohol burning its way down her throat.  

“You should get Gold to make your dress,” added Ariel.  “I mean, Ms Deville has some fantastic designs, but if you want a knock-em-dead dress, he’s your man, trust me.  You should see the dress he designed for the premiere for me, all green silk and beads.  They sent the sketches over this morning.  I can’t wait to show you!”

“That sounds beautiful,” admitted Belle.  “But I wouldn’t want to cramp your style with anything too similar.”

Ariel shook her head.

“You won’t.  He designs each dress for the person wearing it,” she said.  “I ordered a bunch of stuff from them a few weeks ago, and when I went for the fitting it was perfect.  More casual wear, for sure, but even so…”

“Well, I guess I could go and see them,” shrugged Belle, dropping the cocktail stick on a tiny silver dish in the shape of a seashell.  

She drained her glass, and arched an eyebrow at Ariel.  

“How about another?”  

Ariel raised a pale, slender arm to summon the bartender, and threw back the rest of her drink.

“I’ll call them tomorrow,” she said.  “I need to go and check on my order, anyway, so we can go together, if you like.”

“Sounds good.”

* * *

That was how Belle found herself standing outside a sleek, black-fronted building with a small, understated gold sign announcing _‘Gold & Deville Couture’_.  Ariel tugged on her hand, pulling her inside, and Belle took off her sunglasses as they entered, the air delightfully cool after the heat of the Californian sun.  There was a small shop inside as they entered: clean, stylish pieces on black rails, but Ariel shook her head and took Belle’s hand, pulling her up the staircase to the next floor.  

“They do a small ready-to-wear section,” she said.  “But that’s not what we’re here for.”

She led Belle to a black, shining door to the right of them, turning the handle and walking into a cool, pleasant reception that smelt of lavender and geranium.  The room was light and airy, the walls painted a pale lilac.  Two deep purple doors were on the far left wall, the floor laid with golden-brown wood.

“Hey there.”  A tall, pretty woman with blonde hair curling down over her shoulders flashed them a smile from behind a desk of curving, polished wood.  “Miss Del Mar, right?  And this must be Miss French.  I loved you in _Sense and Sensibility_ , by the way.”

“Oh, thank you!”  Belle returned her smile.  “Not many people over here have seen that, but I had a lot of fun making that movie.”

“Yeah, I watched the Blu-Ray extras.”  The woman chuckled.  “Never thought Marianne would swear so much.”

Belle giggled, and the woman got up from her chair, walking towards one of the doors.

“I’ll tell him you’re here,” she said, over her shoulder.  “Won’t be a minute.”

She disappeared through the door, and Ariel and Belle shared a glance.

“She seems nice,” admitted Belle, and Ariel rolled her eyes.

“Told you,” she said smugly.  “Seriously, Belle, these smaller fashion houses are where it’s at.  Gold will make you look _amazing_.  Don’t listen to Zelena.”

“Well, I don’t usually,” muttered Belle, and Ariel giggled.

The door opened then, and the two women turned to face it.  The young blonde woman was first, and behind her, a man.  He was in his early fifties, Belle thought.  Short, perhaps five-six or five-seven.  There was a presence to him, though, an aura, that made him seem larger than he was.  He was dressed in a perfectly-tailored three piece suit and a dark blue silk shirt.  A matching handkerchief was artfully folded in the breast pocket, and he walked with the aid of a gold-handled cane.  He had high cheekbones, and a slightly crooked nose, his eyes a deep brown.  His hair was brown too, greying at the temples, and long, falling around his face.  She realised that she was trying to work out whether he was handsome or not, decided that he was, and blushed.  Another young woman sidled through the door after him and moved to the left, curly blonde hair tied up on her head in a messy bun.  So, he liked blondes, did he?  Belle blinked, unsure where that thought had come from.  Why should she care what he liked?

“Gold, here are our guests,” said the other young woman in a careless tone, walking back to the reception desk, and he smiled.

“Ariel Del Mar.”  Gold’s voice was almost a purr, a soft, Scottish accent rolling his r’s as he spoke.  He stepped up to Ariel and took her hand, lifting it to his lips.

“You’re looking as radiant as ever, my dear,” he said, genuine warmth in his eyes, and Ariel beamed at him as he stepped back.  

“Your order is ready,” he added, gesturing to the young woman who was bouncing up and down on her toes in the corner.  “If you want to try everything on, Tink will be happy to assist you.”

“Oh!”  Ariel’s eyes widened with excitement.  “Wonderful!  I’d love to, but first can I introduce my friend?”

“Of course.”  Gold’s eyes swivelled to Belle, and she felt her breath hitch a little at the intensity in his gaze.  “Although she needs no introduction.  The lovely Belle French, I presume.”

“Guilty as charged,” she managed, and he kissed her hand as he had Ariel’s.  His lips were warm and soft, and she felt herself blush as he straightened up with a tiny smile.

“And how may I be of service, Miss French?” he asked.

“I - well - I need a dress for the premiere of our latest film,” she explained.  “And perhaps three others for different publicity events.  I thought maybe we could talk over some ideas?”

“Of course.”  He turned to the girl at the reception desk.  “Perhaps some tea, Emma, for our guests.  Would you be so kind?”

“Sure thing.”  

She pushed back her chair and made her way out through the door leading into the corridor, and Tink stepped forward.

“Your things are all ready, Miss Del Mar,” she said.  “If you’d like to follow me?”

Ariel followed her through one of the purple doors, with a backward glance at Belle and an encouraging smile, and then she was left alone with Gold.  The room suddenly seemed warm and close, and she swallowed as she looked around at him.  He was standing with his hands clasped on the handle of the cane, a tiny smile lifting the corners of his mouth.

“Well, Miss French,” he said.  “Would you please come with me?”

He turned, swivelling on the balls of his feet in shiny black leather shoes, and made his way to the second of the purple doors at the rear of the room.  He had a pronounced limp, but his movements were somehow graceful, sinuous.  Belle followed, a little breathless with anticipation, and he led her into a large white-panelled room with tall windows through which the light of the early afternoon was streaming.  Her heels clicked on the wooden floor as she looked around with interest.  The room held a couple of racks of dresses, shirts and slacks, tailors’ mannequins in varying sizes, and bolts of cloth in a myriad of colours stacked on shelves next to a workbench.  A three-panelled screen was in the corner.

“I sometimes work in this room,” Gold explained, gesturing to the mannequins.  “My main workshop is to the rear, but I like the morning light in here, so I alternate between the two.”  

“It’s nice,” said Belle, nodding.  “Is this where you do fittings?”

“Indeed.  I’ll be taking your measurements in a moment.  But let me check your colouring first.”

He turned back to her, leaning his cane against the workbench and beckoning with a crooked finger.  

“Come into the light,” he said quietly, and she bit her lip nervously.  

Slowly, she stepped towards him, and he put a finger beneath her chin, lifting her head and gently turning it this way and that.  He seemed to be studying every inch of her, and finished by framing her face with his hands, looking her over and staring into her eyes.  His palms were smooth and cool, but she felt her heart thump a little faster in her chest as she met his gaze, her nose catching the scent of expensive cologne.  He nodded to himself, and took a step back.  She could still feel the ghost of his touch on her skin, and she licked her lips.

“Now,” said Gold, suddenly brisk and businesslike.  “When is the premiere?”

“At the end of July,” said Belle, and he nodded.

“Do you have any thoughts on what you’d like?” he asked then.

“I - I’m not sure,” admitted Belle.  “I like flared skirts, if that helps.  Perhaps something in blue.  Although the motif of the film is red, so maybe a red dress...”

He shook his head firmly.  

“Not red, unless it’s a deep red, and that would be wrong for the season,” he said.  “Blue would suit you, though.  Any number of shades, I imagine.  A flared skirt would be fine if the dress is short, but putting a wide skirt on anything that falls to below the knee would shrink you.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want that,” said Belle, with a nervous laugh, and he grinned at her.

“I think we ought to take your measurements, and perhaps try on a few styles,” he suggested.  “I have some ideas that I think you’ll like.  If you could go behind the screen, please.”

He pointed to the three-panel screen in the corner of the room, and Belle ventured behind it.  There was a chair, a tiny table and a coat rack holding a knee length camisole in cream silk.  She suspected that she was to wear it.  She began undressing, hanging up her jacket and dress on the hangers provided, and stepping out of the high heels that had been plaguing her since that morning.  The wooden floor was pleasantly cool beneath her bare toes.  The sound of the door opening made her look up in alarm as she snatched the camisole to herself, but then she heard the clink of china.

“Set the tea on the table, please, Emma,” said Gold, and Belle breathed a sigh of relief, slipping the silk over her head.

“I’m about to take Miss French’s measurements,” she heard him add.  “Would you make a note for me?”

“Sure.”  

There were further clinks, and the sound of tea being poured.  Belle smoothed the front of the camisole, taking a deep breath, and stepped out from behind the screen.  Gold had removed his jacket, and was standing there in his waistcoat and blue silk shirt, gold sleeve garters pushed up to his elbows.  He was holding a length of tape in his hands, and beckoned to Belle, giving her an encouraging smile.  She moved to stand in front of him, watching Emma pull a notepad and pencil from her back pocket, and Gold began looping the tape around her and stretching it across her, calling out numbers to Emma in a curt, efficient manner.  The feel of the tape against her breasts made her nipples harden, and she blushed, but he appeared not to notice, merely giving her bust measurement to Emma and moving on, long fingers mapping her curves.  She wondered how skilled he was at using those fingers for something other than measuring and cutting cloth, and bit her lip to distract herself, trying not to blush any more.  Gold didn’t appear to notice.  

Once the measuring was done, he suggested that she try on a few styles, and Belle sipped at her cup of tea as Emma wheeled in a rack containing dresses of varying lengths and designs.  She helped Belle into them one at a time, and Gold either shook his head immediately when she came out from behind the screen, or pursed his lips and looked her over, coming to stand behind her and pull in the waist or lift the skirt, muttering to himself.  Belle took the opportunity to inspect the designs themselves.  The clothes were beautifully made, elegant and well cut, in silk and chiffon and tulle, plain and understated, or sparkling with crystals and tiny beads.  Gold’s hands were warm on her hips through the thin covering of a purple silk bias-cut gown, and he curled his lip.

“No,” he said firmly.

Belle allowed Emma to lead her back behind the screen to take it off and don the next, a short, coral pink dress with a full skirt.  She liked that one, and he gave her an approving look when she emerged from behind the screen, which made her absurdly pleased.  Eventually he nodded, having looked at her in all the dresses and given his opinion, and she heaved a sigh of relief.

“Okay, you can get dressed,” he said, and Belle happily ducked behind the screen to hide her erect nipples and her rapidly developing and all-consuming crush on Mr Gold.

Her desire was only heightened as he started bringing out colour swatches to lay against her skin, his hands cool and gentle.  Emma left them to it, calling over her shoulder that he should shout if he needed anything, and Belle was left in a state of confused arousal, watching his long fingers pull out strips of colour and place them next to the skin of her face or neck.

“i like that,” she ventured, as he picked up a strip of silk in royal blue.

“Yes, that would suit you,” he said approvingly.  “It brings out your eyes.  Definitely a possible colour for the premiere dress.”

He laid it to the left side of the workbench, and picked up a strip of dark green.  Belle smiled at it, but he pursed his lips, setting it to the right.

“Nice, but not right for the season,” he explained.  “I’ll make a note of it for your file, though.  Perhaps for a winter outfit.”

“You’re assuming I’ll be back,” she teased, and he flashed her a tiny, secret smile.

“Oh, I know you’ll be back,” he said quietly.

He continued to work through the colour swatches, taking out and immediately setting to the right beiges and tans and lilacs, muttering under his breath that they wouldn’t work.  Pinching fingers teased apart pieces of cloth in varying shades of blue, and he nodded.

“Can we at least _look_ at some red?” asked Belle, and he rolled his eyes.

“I’m not making you a red dress for this event,” he said calmly, and she frowned.  

“Why not?” she asked.  “Isn’t the customer always right?”

“No.”  He laid a strip of cornflower blue against her skin, nodded, and added it to the royal blue swatch.  “The customer is frequently wrong.  I want my clients to look their very best, Miss French, so please allow me to get on with my work.”

“The palette of the film has a lot of red,” she insisted.  “I _suit_ red.  Why won’t you consider it?”

“Because you don’t _need_ it,” he said impatiently, flicking his hair back as he looked at her.  “You want people to focus on _you_ , not just on the dress.  The dress should complement you, not overwhelm you.  Whether or not you suit red is irrelevant.  I won’t be using it for this dress.”

Belle sniffed.  She was beginning to understand why Zelena had complained about him.

“I guess you think _you’re_ always right, then,” she muttered, and he laid the swatch in his hand aside, meeting her eyes in the mirror.  His expression made her heart thump.

“Yes, I do,” he said quietly.  “I know exactly how good I am.  I know that my fashion house is relatively small, and that I have something to prove.  I know that the clients I have managed to obtain never leave once they’re with me.  I know that I can tell a person’s character on sight, and make them a dress that will have them immortalised in the press.  I know _you_ , Miss French.  And I will not make you a red dress for this premiere, because it is not right, it is not _you_.”

Belle swallowed, the dark gleam in his eyes piercing her to the core.

“You made one for Regina Mills,” she pointed out.  “Everyone thought it was amazing.”

“Yes.”  He picked up a pale, pastel blue, frowned at it, then set it to the right with the discarded colours.  “It brought out her fire.  It complemented her.  Others have asked me to make something similar.  Sometimes I do, sometimes I don’t.  It all depends on the client, on what the dress requires and what I feel the client needs.”

Belle frowned, unsure what it was he was saying.  

“Are - are you saying I don’t have the attitude to carry it off?” she asked.  “You don’t think I have the fire?  Is that it?”

Gold stared at her in the mirror for a moment, then dropped his eyes with a chuckle.

“Oh, you have the fire,” he said, amused.  “You’re less - obvious - with it, than Ms Mills, perhaps, but it’s there.  In some ways I think you’re the strongest person I’ve ever met.”

He reached for the colour swatches again, laying pale green against her skin before nodding and putting it in the left hand pile.

“Can’t I show it, then?” she asked.  “It’s my first lead in a major picture, and I want to make an impact.  If you really think I have the fire, can’t I wear red to show it?”

Gold paused as his fingers quested for the next, narrow strip of coloured silk.  He straightened up, putting his hands on her shoulders and turning her to face him.  His hands were warm through the thin material of her dress, and she felt her breath catch as he looked into her eyes.

“You don’t need to wear red to show your fire,” he said softly.  “Your fire is in your soul, in your eyes, and it could burn the rest of them to ash where they stand.”

Belle’s mouth fell open a little, and he took a tiny step closer, reaching up to brush her curls back off her shoulders, his hands framing her face.  She could smell cologne on his fingers again, sandalwood and spice and a faint hint of musk.

“You are a creature of water, and air,” he said gently.  “Sunshine, and laughter, and green, growing things.  The calmness of the sea, and the sudden storms that can rise up out of nowhere.  You are a force of nature, and you shouldn’t hide in the darkness.  You bring light.”

Belle swallowed hard, her heart thumping in her chest.

“Do you - tell all your clients this?” she faltered, and he smiled, dropping his hands and stepping back.  

“I tell my clients what I think of them,” he said.  “They can choose to take my advice, or not.  Please take my advice, Miss French.  Don’t hide your light.”

“O - okay.”  

She caught her lower lip between her teeth, worrying it nervously as he stepped back towards the workbench and his little bundle of silk swatches.  Her heart was still pounding, her skin tingling where he had touched her.  She had never had this reaction to someone before, and it was almost frightening in its intensity.  Perhaps it was the relationship drought she had been in since her break-up with Will, over two years ago.  How long had it been since she’d had sex?  Nothing since that last, unmemorable one-night stand with Victor Whale after they had both filmed supporting roles in an adaptation of _The Importance of Being Earnest_.  Whale was handsome and attentive, and also fairly amusing, if a little too full of himself.  The sex had been disappointing, though, and she had not been sorry to take a break from relationships.  She had not had any real attraction to anyone since.  Until now, that was.

Her feelings towards Gold were something she had never experienced before, and she found herself concentrating on every aspect of him.  The way his hands moved with skill and care, long fingers wielding scissors and pins, gesturing flamboyantly as he explained his intentions, stroking at the soft lengths of cut silk he used.  The low purr of his voice.  The almost familiar warmth of his scent.  The way his body moved beneath the silk shirt and well-cut suit.  She was enraptured, and it was new and terrifying and utterly wonderful.  It was also painful, as he seemed to be completely oblivious to the fact that she was head over heels in lust with him.  Ariel would roll around on the floor laughing if she knew.

By the time thirty minutes had passed, the colour swatches had been worked through, and Gold had divided them into colours he would use, including some that would be paired in a single dress, and a much larger pile of colours he would not.  Belle liked the blues, and some of the greens, but was unsure about the yellows and pinks, and he agreed that these would not be used for the premiere dress.

“Perhaps for something less formal,” he suggested.  “When you come back and order from me again.”

He grinned at her, and waggled his eyebrows, and she couldn’t help rolling her eyes in amusement.  She suspected he was right, though.  She would be back.

* * *

Belle was asked to return the following week to have her pattern block fitted.  Tink was there to fit the rough muslin to her form, ensuring the measurements taken were correct, marking the cloth with a black pen where they needed alteration.  She chatted happily as she worked, explaining that Gold would use the muslin to create a pattern that would be exclusively sized for Belle and that he would be able to use for any clothes she ordered in the future.

“He’ll create something incredible for you,” she added, unpinning the muslin and letting Belle step out of it.  “I’ve seen the initial sketches, and it’s gonna look amazing.”

While disappointed that he had not been there to oversee the procedure, Belle had to admit that Tink knew her stuff, her touch sure and deft,  She left the premises feeling confident in the fashion house and excited at what Gold would design.  Ariel had shown her the sketches for her own dress, and brought over a sample of the sea-green silk.  It was a beautiful contrast with her pale skin and red hair, and Belle shared an excited grin with her at the thought of how they would both look on the red carpet.

* * *

 

It was a week later when Emma called to say that the initial designs for her dresses had been sketched out, and seeking feedback.  Emma emailed over the scanned drawings, the sketched figure modelling the clothes thinner and taller than Belle was, and with oversized eyes with long lashes and dark hair pinned up on its head.  She suspected it was simply Gold’s style of drawing rather than an attempt to sketch her likeness, and turned her attention to the designs themselves.  The premiere dress looked beautiful, though not at all what she had imagined.  It was an asymmetric, form-hugging gown in royal blue with one shoulder strap made up of silk flowers in the same colour.  The dress was fitted tight to the knee, the bottom of the skirt flaring out over the feet and ending in a small train at the back that opened up the dress from behind the middle of her thigh and left room for her legs to move.  She imagined that the dress would emphasise her curves, and the colour was perfect.

The other dresses she had asked for were more understated: well-made, tailored pieces in shades of blue, green and yellow, for less formal events.  They all had short, full skirts and high necks, which would show her legs to their full advantage while remaining modest and classy.  She admired his skill, running a finger over the strokes of paint that he had used to sketch out the shapes, and couldn’t help feeling excited as she imagined what the finished pieces would look like.  She emailed Emma her approval, and soon after was asked to attend the following week.  Gold would be pattern cutting in the meantime, and wanted her there for the first fitting.

* * *

 

Belle turned up to the fashion house alone.  Ariel had an audition for a film co-starring Tom Hiddleston, and was understandably thrilled.  Belle had wished her luck, promising to meet for drinks afterwards whatever the result, and therefore she entered the premises of _Gold & Deville _ on her own, absurdly nervous, and hoping that Gold wouldn’t have decided to palm her off on one of his assistants for this part of the creative process.  Her worries were groundless.  He was waiting for her when she entered, his mouth twitching in that tiny smile, and Emma rolled her eyes visibly.

“Great, you’re here, everyone can relax,” she said dryly.  “He’s been like a hyperactive toddler who got in the sugar.”

Gold shot her a scowl.

“Perhaps you can go and make some tea for Miss French, and keep your opinions to yourself,” he snapped, and she chuckled.

“Yeah, like that’ll ever happen,” she said, amused.  “Anyway, it’s after four.  I think Miss French would prefer a glass of wine.”

“Actually, that sounds great,” said Belle, smiling at her, and Emma snorted, nudging Gold.

“Told you, asshole,” she said, in a satisfied tone, and stalked from the room, leaving Gold frowning after her.  Belle giggled, and bit her lip as he turned back to her.

“Miss French, if you’d like to follow me?” he said coolly, and she fell into step behind him, still grinning.

His workroom was a little different to how she remembered it, drawings of the dresses he planned to make for her now pinned to the walls, bolts of silk stacked by the workbench and a pile of cut blue cloth on the bench itself.  There were three mannequins there, each with different coloured material pinned to cut pattern paper hanging from it, giving the rough shapes of the three less formal dresses she had ordered.

“I used the mannequins to get the basic measurements right from your pattern block,” he explained.  “After we deal with the premiere dress, I’ll unpin them a little and fit them to you properly.”

“Right,” said Belle nervously.  

Gold gestured to the dresses with a flick of his long fingers.  

“I’ll be fitting the lining first,” he added.  “That way if there are any major errors it’s something that can easily be rectified.  I can then go on to cut the silk for the dresses based on what I do today.”

“I understand,” said Belle, nodding.

“I made the pattern for the premiere dress, and cut the lining silk accordingly,” he said, gesturing to the bench.  “Given the design of this dress, I have to make sure the fit is perfect, so I’m going to need you to undress.  The back is low, so you won’t be able to wear a bra with the finished item.  I’ll be stitching cups into the dress itself to give you support, but that’s for another day.  There will be a little corsetry in the bodice.”

“Okay.”  

She bounced up and down on her toes, unsure of what to say, her mind reeling with thoughts of him putting his hands on her.  On her waist, her hips, her breasts.  She wondered if his mouth was as soft as it looked, whether it would taste sweet if she kissed him.  Immediately she blushed, and tried to distract herself.

“I - really liked the design,” she said shyly.  “It wasn’t something I’d considered before, but I think it’ll look great.”

He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling, and stepped closer to her.  She could hear his breath, could imagine that she felt it on her face as he looked at her, and her heart began to pound in her chest.  Gold’s eyes were dark, intense.

“I agree,” he said softly.  “I think you’ll be - incandescent.”

Belle met his gaze, wishing that she knew what he was thinking, wishing that her feelings were returned, that he would bend his head and kiss her, slide his tongue inside her mouth and pull her into his arms.  She jumped as Emma entered the room, shoving open the door with her foot and carrying a tray on which she had balanced a cup of tea and a glass of red wine.  Emma flicked her eyes over the two of them, and snorted in amusement.

“Not interrupting anything, am I?” she asked cheerfully, and Gold frowned at her.

“Work,” he said tersely.  “Which is what _you_ should be doing.”

“Uh-huh.”  Emma winked at Belle as she handed over the wine.  “Yeah, I’ll get right on that, pops.”

She set Gold’s tea on his workbench, blew him a kiss, which earned a frown, and sauntered out, closing the door with a little more force than was necessary.  Gold sighed, raising his eyes to the ceiling.

“Right,” he said.  “Perhaps we can get on with the task at hand, now Emma has left to do whatever the hell she does when she’s not getting under my feet.  Please change, Miss French, but leave your underwear on for now.”

“Okay.”   _For now?_

Belle took a sip of her wine, the taste smooth and spicy, and set it down on the workbench, trotting over to the three panel screen and undressing to her underwear.  She chewed her lip anxiously at the thought of him seeing her in bra and panties, and told herself it was ridiculous.  It wasn’t as though he had expressed any interest in her, and this was his _job_.  He must see women in their underwear every day, it wasn’t like it mattered.  She had shot plenty of nude or nearly-nude scenes in her time, and they were always the least sensual part of any filming experience.  He must feel the same way about people getting naked in front of him, their bodies mere structure for the clothes he would dress them in.  She sighed, squaring her shoulders and appearing from behind the screen on bare feet to see him frowning at the floor.  She wondered what had annoyed him.

“I’m ready,” she said.  

He started, looking up and beckoning to her, but his eyes did not linger on her form.  It was disheartening, to say the least.

“Good,” he said.  “Please come here and try to remain as still as possible.  I’m going to pin the silk to you to double-check the measurements.”

Belle shuffled over, remaining silent as he picked up pieces of silk, each pinned to cut pattern paper, and began to hold them against her body, taking pins from a cushion at his wrist and pinching the edges of the cloth together to attach one piece to the next.  Occasionally he would pick up a black pen and make marks in the pattern paper, and she presumed he was altering the fit.  The paper rustled as he worked.  His touch was warm, and welcome, and she tried to think of anything but how attractive she found him.

“Are you and Emma related?” she asked, and he smiled.

“She’s my daughter-in-law,” he said.  “Which may explain the lack of deference she shows, hmm?”

“I did wonder,” admitted Belle, with a grin.  “So, she’s married to your son?”

“Indeed.  She was a lot of help when we set up the studio here.  Background in fashion and marketing, but her passion lies on the marketing side.  Good thing for me, I must confess.  She brings in more clients than I chase away, thankfully.”  

He plucked two pins between thumb and forefinger, popping one in his mouth as he slid the other into the seam he was creating.

“Is your son involved in fashion too?”  she asked, and he shot her a rueful grin, taking the pin from between his lips.

“A stockbroker.  Always boasts that he couldn’t tell one end of a needle from the other, but he’s a good lad.”  He flicked his eyes up at her.  “I haven’t had this much interest in my private life since my divorce.  An expensive and highly draining affair, I assure you.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry!” she said, blushing, and he shook his head.

“It doesn’t bother me.  Perhaps we can make a deal.”

“A deal?”  

She watched the corner of his mouth twist upwards as his nimble fingers pinned the fabric.

“A question for a question,” he said.

“Oh.”  She racked her brains to think of something she didn’t want to discuss, but couldn’t think of anything the press hadn’t already raked through.  “Okay.”

“Very well.”  He took another pin from the cushion on his wrist, sliding its sharp length into the silken folds.  “Rumour has it you and your co-star are more than just good friends.”

“Ariel or Gaston?” she said with a giggle, and he looked up, grinning at her.  “Oh, I know everyone’s expecting Gaston and I to be an item, but he’s really not my type.  No depth, you know?  I mean he can hold a conversation with you, but only if the topic is Gaston.”

“I see.”  He seemed amused.  “And as I happen to know that Miss Del Mar is madly in love with her fiancé, I suspect you were teasing me.”

“Maybe a little.”  She watched the concentration in his face as he plucked at the silk, his fingers pinching, the pins sliding.  “My turn.”

“Be my guest.”

“Okay…”  She tried to think of a question.  “When did you get divorced?”

“Fifteen years ago,” he said.  “It was for the best.  Neither of us had been happy, and Neal was the only good thing to come from our relationship.”

“Did you - ever find someone else?” she asked, and he looked up with a grin.

“I believe it was my question next,” he said softly, and she blushed.

“Sorry.”

“Same question to you,” he said.  “You went through a bad break up.  The press, as I recall, were fairly vile to you over the whole thing.  Has it put you off?”

“No, not at all.”  She pulled a face.  “I mean, being in the public eye sucks, at times, especially dealing with the Twitter trolls and the gutter press, but it helped to turn off my phone and only speak to my friends for a while.  My _real_ friends.  I just...”  She hesitated, trying to find the words.  “I guess I just needed to find out who _I_ was, before I looked for a relationship again.  We’d known one another since we were kids at drama school, and we just - grew apart.  There were no bad guys in that one, despite what the press were saying about me.”

“Shallow, vacuous fools,” he said calmly, and she sighed.

“I get it,” she admitted.  “Will plays a character loved by millions, and he’s a genuinely nice guy, so I had to be the villain, didn’t I?  I think that was when I realised that my private life would never truly be my own again.”

“Was it worth it?”  

The question was asked mildly, but there was a weight to it, a meaning that she couldn’t quite grasp.

“Yes,” she said, without hesitation.  “I should never have agreed to marry him, but everyone around me was telling me it was the right thing to do.  When I’d been crying at night for a week after telling him yes, I told myself it would never work, and I knew I had to do something.  I don’t blame him for being bitter.”

“Better that you made the break before you got married, rather than after,” he commented, and she sighed again.

“Yeah, well, not to hear most of his family,” she grumbled.  “It was the right thing for _me_ , though, for sure.  I’ve grown so much since we broke up, it’s like I barely even recognise that part of my life now.”

“Turn, please,” he said, putting his hands on her hips, and she obeyed, feeling the warmth of his palms through the silk.  He continued to pin the fabric, his touch gentle against the curve of her hip.

“So, back to _my_ question,” she said, and there was a moment of silence.

“No,” he said eventually.  “No, there’s been no one else, at least no one that meant anything.   I found that everyone I met wanted - something - from me.  Something I wasn’t prepared to give.  I suspect you can sympathise with that.”

“Yeah,” she said quietly, thinking of the few empty, pointless dates she had suffered through since her break-up with Will.  “I decided some time ago that only real love would tempt me back into a relationship again.”

“And how will you know when you find it?” he asked, and she took a breath.

“I think - I think sometimes you just _know_ ,” she said slowly.  “Like, you realise one day that this person is the one you’re meant to be with, you know?”

His smile was wry

“Given my history I’m possibly the wrong person to test this theory on,” he said dryly, and she giggled.

“Well, if it ever works, you can design my wedding dress.”

“Agreed.”  He returned her smile, his eyes glinting with amusement.

He pinned the remaining pieces of fabric, the bottom of the dress taking him longer, and asked her to wear her heels again to check the length and drape of the dress.  It took some time before he was happy with the shape of the train and hem, and he muttered under his breath a little as he worked.  Eventually though, he nodded in satisfaction, and sat back on his heels to look her over, his eyes sweeping up and down before drawing level with her navel.  Belle stood very still, and he pursed his lips, stroking his fingers over the fit of the cloth on her hips and at her waist, the pattern paper crackling under his hands.  His touch made her want to shiver.  She could feel that she was wet, and squeezed her thighs together, praying to the fickle gods of public humiliation that it wouldn’t show through her underwear when he finally took the fabric away from her.

Gold unpinned several small sections and adjusted them, making marks with the pen and nodding to himself as he did so, fingers sliding the pins back into place, and she tried to keep her breath steady.  He straightened up with the aid of his cane, walking slowly around her and raking her with his eyes, before nodding again.  

“A moment, please, Miss French,” he said, striding towards the workroom door and going out.

Belle heaved a sigh, sagging a little with pent-up desire and nervousness, the pattern paper rustling.  She could hear a murmur of voices then, and Gold returned ahead of a tall, pale, slender woman with very red lips and white-blonde hair over a dark underlayer in a sleek bob.  She put her hands on leather-clad hips, looking Belle over appraisingly.

“Well, hello there, darling,” she said, in a drawling English accent.  “I see my boy here has been keeping the pleasure of your company all to himself.  Sorry he’s such an antisocial mess.  I assure you he has skills that go far beyond human interaction, however.”

She smirked at Gold, who sighed and rolled his eyes.

“Miss French, please meet my business partner, fellow designer and all-round busybody Ella Deville,” he said dryly.  “Ella, this is our newest customer.  Be nice.”

Ella snorted.

“I’m _always_ nice,” she said airily.  “Far nicer than _you_ , you miserable old bastard.  Surprised you haven’t scared the poor thing away.”

“I assure you that Miss French and I are getting along perfectly well,” he said stiffly, and she snorted.  

“And I assure _you_ that I heard all the gossip about what you said to Zelena Green before she stormed out with a face like a slapped arse,” she said, wagging a finger at him.  “Harsh, darling!  Insulting the clients really isn’t the done thing, you know.”

Belle giggled before biting her lip, and Gold’s mouth thinned.

“I said nothing that wasn’t perfectly true,” he said.  “And I didn’t call you in here for character assassination, thank you.  I need your help with Miss French.”

“Well, at _last_ you admit it,” Ella said, folding her arms beneath her breasts with an air of satisfaction.  “About bloody time!  Do you want me to tell her about your sexual prowess?  I mean it’s not as though I have any personal experience, but I’m sure I could make up _something_ to show you in a good light.”

She grinned widely, batting her eyelashes, and Gold sighed, closing his eyes with a pained expression.

“Miss French, I must apologise for my partner,” he said dryly.  “She thinks that having a laugh at my expense is the best way to lift the tedium while she waits for the clock to pass five so she can pour herself a gin or three.  It’s sad, really.”

Ella shot him an amused look, slapping his rear with a hand as she walked towards Belle and earning a scowl from him.

“Whenever I come in this room you have some gorgeous young thing standing around in her underwear,” she remarked.  “Can’t blame a girl for trying to help you make the most of it.”

“Be quiet,” said Gold repressively.  “Just give me a hand here, will you?”

Belle watched, a little breathless, as he took the pen and made marks on the paper at the back of the dress before unpinning the silk there, creating a gap.  Ella grasped the bodice of the dress and Gold offered a hand to Belle.  His palm was warm and smooth, his grip firm.

“Lift your foot and step backwards,” he said, and she obeyed, the paper crackling as she stepped out of the dress.

“If you could stand there a moment, Miss French,” he said, and she obeyed, kicking off her heels and stepping to the side to take another drink of her wine.    

Ella continued to hold up the dress, and Gold brought over a mannequin to slip it onto, Belle’s name on a large white sticker on the top of it.  She presumed it had been adjusted to her measurements, and as the dress settled onto it he repinned the back and nodded in satisfaction, showing his teeth at Ella.

“Thank you, dearie,” he said.  “That was all.”

She was grinning at him, and the atmosphere between them made Belle want to giggle, amusement on Ella’s side, weariness on Gold’s, and a surprising amount of affection from both of them.

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” Ella announced, flicking her eyes to Belle and back to him.  “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t.”

“Like work, you mean?” he said snidely, and she snorted.

“I’ll see you for a drink later on, loser,” she said, and winked at Belle.  “Try not to let him scare you, darling, he’s really not that bad.”

“Go and do something useful, would you?” he said, in a bored voice, and she kissed his cheek, grinning at him and sauntering out with a flick of her blonde hair.

“Apologies, Miss French,” he said, turning to her.  “I’m surrounded by women who like to insult me.  My own fault, I suspect.”

Belle giggled, taking another drink of wine.

“She seems nice,” she ventured, and he rolled his eyes.

“She likes to think she’s my big sister, despite being fifteen years my junior,” he said, and gestured to the mannequins where the makings of the less formal dresses hung.

“If you would be so kind?  This won’t take too long.”

Belle put down her glass and stepped forward, eager for the touch of his hands again.  It was slowly dawning on her that she had a very serious problem.

* * *

An hour later, she was relaxing in a booth at _Ursula’s_ , the bench upon which she was sitting shaped like a curving piece of elkhorn coral, long points stretching up behind her.  She stirred her drink as she waited for Ariel to arrive, the strong scent of juniper piercing her nostrils.  Her appointment with Gold had taken a little longer than she thought, and she was a confused mess, her head full of thoughts of Gold, of the warmth of his touch, of his scent, his tiny, twisted smile.  She sighed deeply, wriggling a little in her seat.  She had several more fittings with him until the dresses were ready, and she hoped she would be able to get through them without making a total fool of herself.

“Belle!”  

A familiar voice made her look up.  Ariel waved at her excitedly from across the bar, and Belle sat up a little straighter.

“How did it go?” she asked eagerly, and Ariel beamed as she slid into a seat opposite.

“Good!” she chirped.  “Really good!  They asked me back for a second audition!”

“That’s great!”  Belle reached out to squeeze her hand.  “Let me get you a drink.”

She raised a hand to a sharp-eyed waitress, ordered another gin and tonic for herself, and a Cosmopolitan for Ariel, and settled back in her seat, sucking up the last of her drink.  Ariel began to tell her about the audition, and Belle listened attentively as she delivered some of the lines she had been asked to read, chuckling at Ariel’s description of the casting director’s flamboyant appearance.

“It’s a great part,” continued Ariel, her eyes shining.  “I got on well with the director and the girl who’d play my best friend if I get it.  Do you remember Aurora?  Wasn’t she in a play with you?  She said to say hi.”

“Oh!”  Belle sat up.  “Oh wow, she’s lovely!  Yeah, we did a run of _Twelfth Night_ together when we were both just out of drama school.”

“Well, hopefully she can put in a good word for me,” said Ariel fervently, and smiled up at the waitress as their drinks were set in front of them.  “How about you?  How did it go with Gold?”

Belle opened and closed her mouth a couple of times, feeling a blush rise in her cheeks.

“It went - well,” she said.  “I think the dress is going to be amazing.”

She dropped her eyes, stirring her drink, and could feel Ariel’s curiosity rising.

“What happened?” she asked, and Belle looked up at her.

“Nothing!” she protested.  “I went for a fitting, and he saw me in my underwear, and he was pinning fabric to me with those long fingers of his and talking in that sexy bloody accent with that long hair hanging in his face, and I absolutely _wasn’t_ thinking about taking off that suit of his and riding him hard on the floor...”

Ariel’s eyes widened, and she broke into peals of laughter.

“Oh my God!” she giggled.  “ _Seriously?_ You want to give Gold a happy ending when he finishes with your dress?  That’s above and beyond, honey.  He won’t drop the price just because you drop your pants, you know.”

“Okay, shut up,” muttered Belle.  “I have a crush, I can’t help it.”

“I’m teasing,” said Ariel, grinning at her.  “I think it’s cute.  I mean, he is kind of - interesting - and everything.  Not my type, but he definitely has a sort of presence, doesn’t he?”

Belle sighed, taking a slurp of her drink, and Ariel reached out to squeeze her hand.

“You’ll get over it,” she said sympathetically.  “If you want to, of course.  Why don’t you just ask him out?”

“Other than the fact he’s shown absolutely no interest in me whatsoever?” asked Belle wryly.  “He made a point of telling me that he hadn’t been in a serious relationship since his divorce fifteen years ago, and he had no interest in one.”

“Oh.”  Ariel looked stumped.  “Still, he can change his mind, right?  Maybe he was waiting for the right woman to sweep him off his feet and bang him senseless on the floor of his own studio.”

She grinned brightly at Belle, who giggled and buried her nose in her glass.

“Thanks, I totally won’t be thinking about that next time I see him,” she said dryly.

“I live to make you blush at unfortunate moments,” said Ariel, winking.  “Hey, you could always invite him to the premiere, you know.  If they’re making dresses for us both, I’m sure we could swing an invite to the party.”

“Maybe.”  Belle wrinkled her nose.  “I get the feeling he’s not a party person.”

“Ask him,” pressed Ariel.  “He can only say no, right?”

Belle chewed her lip, turning her glass around on the table as she pondered Ariel’s idea.  He could always say no.

* * *

Despite the reasonableness of Ariel’s suggestion, Belle didn’t have the courage to extend an invitation to him until she attended for the final fitting of the dress.  She had been back for the three simpler dresses to be finished, and these now sat packed in tissue paper in a large black bag with the fashion house logo in gold on the side.  She had also been back for the lining of the premiere dress to be fitted and adjusted, and for the shimmering blue silk that would make up the outer layer to be pinned around her.  Gold had measured under and around her bust again to get her cup size, informing her that he would be stitching cups into the bodice when he did the boning.  Belle had reddened as he said that, her mind conjuring up an interesting and highly unprofessional image to go with it, and she called herself a pervert for twisting his innocent words in her head.

At this, the final fitting, Belle was eager to see how the dress would look.  Tink had been there to help him lift the dress from its mannequin, and Belle had been asked to strip down to her underwear and take off her bra.  She stood, toes squirming on the wooden floor and her arms crossed over her breasts as they held out the dress, but Gold didn’t even appear to notice her near-nakedness.  It was all rather disconcerting, and she wondered if he actually liked women at all.  Perhaps he didn’t, and she was about to make a fool of herself for no reason.

“Shoes, please, Miss French,” he said calmly.

Belle started at the sound of his voice, reaching for the high silver sandals she had purchased to wear beneath the dress.  She slipped them on, wriggling her hips a little as she straightened, and trying to ignore the way her nipples had hardened.  With any luck he would think it was the air conditioning.  If he even bloody noticed, of course.  He held out a hand to her, the back of the dress open, and she gingerly stepped inside, trying not to stand on the lining.  It was a relief to have the dress pulled around her, the boned bodice and cups pushing up her small breasts as Tink pulled the back closed and buttoned it.  Gold was standing in front of her, running a finger over his lips as he looked her over.  

“Close your eyes,” he said quietly.  “Tink, would you pass me one of those clips?”

Belle closed her eyes obediently, her senses heightened by his closeness.  She heard him move behind her, and felt his fingers in her hair, twisting it up on top of her head and securing it with a clip.  He stroked his hands down over her waist, tugging a little at the dress to straighten it, and adjusted the strap of blue silk flowers where it crossed over her shoulder.  She heard him step back, and then he was pulling at the dress, the rustle of silk loud in her ears as he adjusted the drape of the skirt.

“Oh, wow!” said Tink softly, and Belle felt Gold straighten up.

“The mirror, please,” he said.

There was the sound of footsteps, and the clang of the free-standing mirror being moved.

“You can open your eyes, Miss French,” said Gold.

Belle blinked, light flooding her vision as she opened her eyes.  Her lips parted in wonder at what she saw.  With her hair pinned up, she could appreciate the elegance of the design and the shimmering richness of the royal blue silk.  Her arms were bare, her breasts pushed high, tiny crystals in a delicate pattern across the tight bodice.  The skirt clung to her hips and thighs, flaring out over her feet and making more crystals glitter in the light, and she could see a rear view of the dress in the mirrors behind her.  The back was cut low, tiny buttons fastening it down to the curve of her rear, and the dress widened at her feet in a small train, tiny pleats of shining silk opening out behind her thighs and giving her freedom of movement.  She turned her attention to the front again, letting her eyes run up her reflection until she was meeting her own gaze.  A delicate blush was in her cheeks, her lips a deep pink where she had been chewing them anxiously.  The silk hugged her form, her skin as pale as milk and her eyes startlingly blue, brought out by the colour.  

_“Oh!”_ she breathed, and she heard a soft chuckle from Gold.

“Walk, please,” he said.

Belle began taking a few steps, her confidence growing as she realised that she could walk at a reasonable, if sedate, pace.  She watched as the hem of the dress flicked up at the front, showing a glimpse of her sandals, the tiny blue crystals glittering in the light.  The effect was breathtaking, and she felt tears sting her eyes as she turned to him, shaking her head.

“It’s beautiful,” she said.  “I don’t know what to say.”

“When you’re asked who made your dress, you say Gold & Deville,” said Tink, grinning, and Belle giggled.

“Of course!” she said eagerly.  “I have a feeling you could be getting more business very soon.”

“I’m pleased you like it,” Gold said gently.  “I think this calls for a little celebration.  A glass of champagne, perhaps?”  

Tink trotted from the room at Belle’s enthusiastic nod, and Belle was left alone with Gold.  He was running his eyes over her, obvious pride in his handiwork, and as he squatted down and inspected the hem once more, she decided to take the plunge.

“So, the premiere is next Wednesday,” she said.

“Oh yes?”  

He sat back on his heels, one hand resting on the handle of his cane as he looked her over.  There was a professional detachment in his eyes, no lasciviousness in his gaze, and it had to be the first time in her life that she had been in close proximity to a man she wasn’t dating and wanted the reverse.  He was seeing the dress, not her, at least not beyond how it draped her body and hugged her curves.  Frustrating bloody man.

“You should come,” she added.  “You and Ella both.”

He raised his eyes to hers, brows flicking upwards in surprise.

“You want me to attend a film premiere?” he asked neutrally, and she nodded.  

“It’ll be fun,” she insisted.  “The food’ll be good, anyway, and it’s a free bar.”

He grinned.  

“That’s all you need to say to get Ella to go,” he remarked.

“And you?”  

He was silent, and she tried again.  

“I’d like you to be there,” she said.  “I’d like you to see the dress in its - in its natural habitat, if you like.  What do you say?”

He held her eyes for a moment, the ghost of a smile making his lips twitch.

“Perhaps.”

* * *

Belle was unsure whether she was more nervous about appearing on the red carpet at the premiere, or about fretting over whether Gold would attend.  She had sent invitations to both the designers, and Ella had replied to say that she would do her best to drag him out of the studio for an evening, and so Belle was a bundle of nerves as she bathed and dressed, her hair already pinned up on top of her head.  She was getting ready at Ariel’s place, but planned to go back to her own apartment after the event, given that Ariel’s fiancé Eric was newly arrived in town after filming in New Zealand for several weeks, and the two would no doubt appreciate some time alone.

She applied her makeup with care, fastening a diamond necklace that probably cost more than her apartment, but which thankfully was only on hire, around her throat.  Diamond and sapphire earrings completed her look, and she turned her head this way and that, pleased with what she saw.

“Here, could you give me a hand?”

Ariel shuffled into the room in the shimmering sea-green dress she was wearing, tiny crystals scattered around the hem, making the flowing swirl of her skirts look like foaming waves as she walked.  Red curls brushed her shoulders, bright against her pale skin, and she held up an elaborate jewelled comb to Belle, standing with her hands folded demurely at her waist as Belle fixed the comb in her hair.

“We look pretty fucking awesome, don’t we?” mused Ariel, and Belle giggled.

* * *

The premiere passed in a blur of light and noise and the heat of the summer evening.  Belle felt as though she was having an out of body experience as she walked the red carpet, the flash of cameras and the shouts from the photographers making her a little dazed.  She kept the same bright smile fixed on her face, turning this way and that to be photographed, posing for pictures with Gaston, his arm snug around her waist, or with Ariel, or with David Nolan.  He whispered in her ear that she looked fantastic, that this night was hers to enjoy, and she felt a little better.  She answered questions from reporters, some about the film itself, some about the dress, and she made sure to gush about Gold & Deville and the skill of their designers.  

There were the inevitable questions about staying in shape, and what her relationship with her co-star was like, and her smile became a little forced at times.  Gaston dealt with these questions much better than she did, laughing and saying that they worked well together, but their relationship was strictly professional, and that he was very much on the market for another beautiful brunette, if anyone happened to know one.  The dark-haired reporter giggled and blushed as he flashed her a dazzling smile, and Belle was grateful when the questions turned to possible future film roles.

After running the gauntlet of reporters and photographers, signing autographs and posing for selfies with fans, it was a relief to step into the relative cool and quiet of the movie theatre, and Belle sank into a seat next to Ariel with a sigh to enjoy the work of months of filming, of early starts and late nights and outdoor shooting in the rain that had left her so cold she was barely able to move her fingers.  Ariel nudged her at their first scene together, and the two shared a grin as they recalled how Belle had fluffed her lines on the first take and said something incredibly dirty that had made the two giggle helplessly through the next six takes, much to David Nolan’s exasperation and amusement.  Gaston was suitably handsome and stoic as Lord Charlesworth, and Belle could hear a chorus of sighs go up from the women in the audience, and some of the men, whenever he appeared on screen.

David gave a speech afterwards, thanking his producer Mary Margaret (who was also his wife) and the cast and crew, and amusing the press with some choice anecdotes from the filming, which caused ripples of laughter.  He then led the guests through to the function room where food and glasses of champagne were carried aloft on silver trays by waiting staff in the red and black house livery of Lord Charlesworth.  Belle grabbed a drink and downed half of it almost immediately, her eyes scanning the room full of guests and her heart thumping in anticipation.  She could hear the loud, familiar drawl of Ella Deville, and sure enough, there she was, deep in conversation with Mary Margaret Nolan and the head of costume design, Jefferson Maddern.  Belle bit her lip, looking around to see if Gold had accompanied her, but unable to spot him.  She felt the first, icy trickle of disappointment run down her spine.

“Oh!  There’s Eric!” squeaked Ariel excitedly, and Belle smiled as she rushed over to where her fiancé stood with a wide grin on his face.

“Belle!”  

She turned with a smile as Gaston strode up to her and slipped an arm around her waist.

“Come on, I want you to meet some friends,” he said, and steered her away to where half a dozen men his own age were waiting with drinks in hands.

* * *

 An hour later she was ready to go home.  Gaston’s friends had been nice enough, if a little too inclined to stare at her breasts, but none of them had much to say to her, and she had excused herself to go and eat some of the canapes that were being carried around the room.  She had an interesting discussion with David Nolan about the possibility of working with him again in the very near future, which made her happy, but as the director he was much in demand, and she found herself standing alone as he was whisked away to give a pre-planned interview for a prominent entertainment channel.  Belle snatched up a tiny, delicate pastry filled with chicken in a white sauce, and popped it into her mouth, looking around to see if Gold had decided to turn up late after all.

“ _Marvellous_ party, darling.”

Ella’s voice made her turn with a smile, and Belle took the glass of champagne the other woman held out to her.  Ella was dressed in a floor-length dress of black crepe covered in tiny beads in an Art Deco pattern.  There were thin straps over her pale shoulders, a white fur stole looped over her arms.  The whole thing had a 1920’s feel to it, and Belle thought she looked fantastic.  Ella was running an approving eye over her own dress.

“Yes, he certainly has an eye for beauty,” she remarked.  “You look _wonderful_ , darling.”

“He didn’t come, then?” asked Belle, not even trying to hide her disappointment, and Ella shrugged, raising one shoulder and letting it drop, her expression languid.

“I tried to persuade him, but no luck,” she said.  “He insisted on staying at work to finish some designs he was playing with.  Sometimes I wonder if he thinks about anything else.”

“Oh.”  Belle turned the glass around in her hands.  “He’s still in his workshop, then?”

“Oh, undoubtedly.”  Ella took a swallow of champagne, her eyes scanning the room.  She gave Belle a quick, almost sly look.  

“He’ll probably be there all night, knowing him,” she added, with a slow grin, and lifted an eyebrow.  “Someone really ought to go and tell him what he’s missing.”

Belle frowned slightly, opening her mouth to ask what she meant, and Ella appeared to spy someone, raising a hand.

_“Darling!”_ she said loudly, and trotted off, leaving Belle standing on her own once more.  

Several guests looked as though they were about to approach her, so she moved quickly away, pretending an interest in the trays of food.  She let the noise and heat surround her, allowing her mind to drift, her head a little fuzzy from the champagne.  Her thoughts were far away from the lights and music of the party, in a cool, quiet workroom with warm light from the lamps and gentle fingers on her skin.  The scent of cedarwood and spice in her nose when he leaned close to her.  The calm, smooth sound of his voice with its soft burr and the roll of his r’s when he spoke.  The way his eyes sometimes gleamed when he looked at her.

Draining her glass, she set it down on a nearby table, and walked out of the room, almost without thinking about what she was doing.  It was only when she asked one of the staff to call her a cab and gave the address that she realised what it was she was planning.  Perhaps it was foolish.  Reckless, certainly, and possibly embarrassing depending on the outcome, but she had to know.

The cab seemed to take a long time to arrive, and she paced back and forth, her nervousness increasing.  Once she was in the back seat and had confirmed the address, she felt a little better.  She had made her decision, and she was sticking with it.  She tapped her toes on the floor of the cab, her small clutch bag containing keys, phone and cash resting on her lap.  The cab made its way sedately through busy streets, but when it finally pulled to a stop outside the premises of Gold & Deville the sidewalks were empty, the building itself dark except for a light in one of the upper rooms.  Belle paid the driver and took a deep breath as she pressed the buzzer, her heart thumping as she waited for a response.  The crackle of the intercom made her breath catch.

“Yes?”

Gold’s voice was dry, a little impatient, and she swallowed hard.

“Hey,” she said uncertainly.  “It’s me.  It’s - it’s Belle.”

There was a moment of awful, deafening silence, and then the lock buzzed, and she pushed open the door and went inside.  Her feet echoed on the stairs, and she could feel her pulse quicken as she neared the top, as she walked through the darkened reception area and turned the handle of the door that led to his workroom.

The room was lit only by a single standard lamp in the corner, its warm making shadows stretch across the floor towards he, and Gold was waiting for her, standing in his shirtsleeves with his hands folded over the handle of his cane.  His shirt was unbuttoned, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows and exposing a tantalising glimpse of his chest and lower arms.  She licked her lips.

“Good evening, Miss French,” he said, in that low voice that made her belly clench.  “How may I help you?”

“You weren’t there,” she said, almost accusingly, and she saw him smile in the dim light, his eyes crinkling.

“More Ella’s thing than mine,” he said.  “She likes the spotlight.  I prefer the shadows.”

She shut the door behind her, hearing it click loudly, and took a couple of steps into the room.

“Did you see any of the premiere?” she asked.  “There were TV cameras there, but I don’t know if they were broadcasting live.”

“I did,” he admitted.  “The entertainment news gave me a good look at my handiwork as you showed it off to devastating effect.”

He grinned, and Belle returned his smile, smoothing the blue silk over her hips.  

“Everybody loved the dress,” she said, a little shyly, and he took a step forward.

“Everybody loved _you_ ,” he corrected.  “The dress would be nothing without you to give it form and life.”

“Well, maybe it was a team effort, then,” she suggested, and his lips twitched.

“Maybe so,” he conceded.

There was a moment of silence then, and he took a breath, lifting an eyebrow at her.

“What are you doing here, Miss French?” he asked quietly, and she shook her head, taking a step nearer.

“I don’t know,” she admitted.  “I was at the party, and the champagne was flowing, and everything was noise and heat and confusion, and I thought about darkness, and quiet, and calm, and - you.”

There was silence for a moment, and it was as though he was weighing her words, trying to gauge the truth of them.

“Shouldn’t the star of the show be there to bask in the adulation?” he asked, and she gave him a rueful grin.

“I’m well aware that this movie isn’t going to change anyone’s life,” she said dryly.  “It’s not exactly groundbreaking stuff, however beautifully shot.  Gaston and Ariel can do the basking.”

“I thought that public scrutiny was one of the prices to be paid for fame and fortune,” he remarked, with a slanting grin.

“I did the interviews!” she protested.  “I walked the red carpet and had microphones shoved in my face, and I answered questions about the dress, and the usual crap about how I keep in shape and what diet I follow and why I didn’t bring a stupid date and whether I’m banging Gaston...”

She cut off, frustrated, and Gold lifted an eyebrow.

“I appear to have touched a nerve,” he said, amused.  “Forgive me.  Given your profession and the need to be in the spotlight to ensure further roles, I assumed you would want the attention.”

Belle sighed, lifting her arms and letting them fall against her sides.  Her feet were hurting, and she was aware that she was sounding ungrateful.

“I know how lucky I am to have been offered this role,” she admitted.  “And I love what I do, don’t get me wrong.  I’m very privileged, I know that.  But it’s…”

“Lonely,” he finished, and she swallowed, meeting his eyes.

“Yeah.”

He watched her for a moment, that same intense, measuring gaze, and she wondered what he was thinking.  He inclined his head, turning away.

“Well, I’m afraid that two of us make for a dull party,” he said.  “But I can certainly offer you a drink.  And music.”

He lifted a hand, gesturing to the rear of the room, and she followed him through to his main workroom, a place in which she had never before stepped foot.  Classical music was drifting from speakers, sweeping strings and haunting woodwinds.  The room was large, a squashy leather couch at one end with a coffee table in front of it, and what looked like a single ottoman bed adjacent to the couch.  There was a cylindrical pillow at its head, and numerous smaller pillows and a patterned silk throw over the top.  She wondered if he ever slept here.  Two large benches in the workroom were covered with pattern paper and bolts of cloth, scissors lying where he had left them, pins and needles stuck in large, flat cushions like sleeping creatures covered with glittering silver spines.  A mannequin held the beginnings of a long, flowing dress in midnight blue silk.  She wondered what he was working on, and who it was for.  

Gold had crossed to a small cabinet near the couch, from which he took a bottle of cognac and two large brandy glasses.  He poured them each a measure, holding one out to her, and she took it from him, her fingertips brushing against his.  She put her purse down on the nearest bench, rolling her shoulders a little, the brandy sloshing as she did so, and he raised his glass, a gleam in his eyes from the lamps.

“Congratulations,” he said softly, and clinked the glass against hers.

She took a sip, the brandy warm and smooth and tasting of caramel and nutmeg as it traced a path down her throat.  He was watching her over the rim of his glass, his eyes dark pools, and she felt her heart thumping in her chest.  She had been alone with him before, of course, many times, but this felt - different.  Perhaps it was the music, or the dim lighting, or the fact that there was no one else in the place.  Perhaps it was the three glasses of champagne she had already drunk.  Perhaps it was simply that she wanted to run her tongue up his exposed throat and into his mouth and kiss him thoroughly.  She swallowed hard, her belly tightening with need.

“Are you alright, Miss French?” he asked softly, and she started, biting her lip in agitation.

“Please, call me Belle,” she said.  “I think we know one another well enough now, don’t you agree?”

He smiled, his left eyebrow flicking up a little.

“Well, maybe you’re right,” he said.  “Belle.”

He spoke her name softly, reverently, as though he were holding it in his mouth to keep it safe.  She raised an eyebrow.

“And you?” she asked.  “May I have your name?”

He was silent for a moment, dark eyes watching her, but then he nodded.

“Ciaran,” he said.

“Ciaran.”  She repeated it, her tongue wrapping around the word and caressing it.  “Scottish?”

His mouth twisted a little, his eyes sparkling.

“It means ‘little dark one’,” he said.  “I therefore blame my mother for my diminutive stature.”

Belle giggled, and took another sip of brandy.

“Well, we’re both short-arses, let’s face it,” she said.  “You have a good four or five inches on me, though.”

“Not in those heels,” he said, gesturing at her feet, and she rolled her eyes and bent to undo the ankle straps.  She kicked off her shoes with a sigh of relief, the polished wood of the floorboards cool against her toes.

“Better?” she asked, and he smirked.

“Better for both of us, I imagine.”

“They _were_ hurting my feet a little,” she admitted, and let out a soft laugh.

“No cameras here,” he said.  “You can make yourself comfortable, Miss French.”

_“Belle,”_ she said gently, and he pulled a rueful face.

“That may take me a while to get used to,” he said.  “I will say that it appears that we were both given appropriate names.”

Belle looked at the floor, feeling a little awkward, and raised her eyes to his.

“My name is a lot to live up to,” she said, and he nodded.

“Your name doesn’t do you justice,” he said quietly, and she squirmed a little, pleased at his comments, but feeling self-conscious.

He took a sip of his brandy, gazing at her, and she watched his throat bob as he swallowed, wondering what he would taste like if she were to kiss him.  She buried her nose in her glass to hide her discomfiture, breathing in the sharp, fragrant scent of the brandy, the fumes burning the insides of her nostrils.  The alcohol was making her head spin a little, and she looked up at him, standing there a few feet from her, watching her over the rim of his glass with dark eyes that seemed to bore into her soul.  He lowered the glass, his eyes fixed on her.

“Why did you come, Belle?” he asked, his voice soft, and her breath caught.

“I - don’t know,” she lied.

He stared at her for a long moment, and then nodded, turning away.

“No, wait!” she blurted, lifting a hand towards him and making him pause.  “That - that was a total lie, I’m sorry.  I do know.”

Gold swivelled back slowly, poised on his toes before settling back on the polished heels of his black leather shoes.  He waited calmly, and she swallowed, trying to summon some courage.

“I came over here because I didn’t want to be anywhere else,” she said.  “I didn’t want the party, I didn’t want the glitz and the booze and the press photo calls.  I wanted…”  She took a deep breath.  “I wanted you.  I’ve wanted you pretty much from the first time we met.”

Gold’s eyes continued to bore into her, and her heart thumped, her mouth dry.

“Why?” he asked, and she hesitated.

“Because…”  

She tried to organise her thoughts, to give her desires life and form and meaning, to make them something other than her base carnal needs, to go beyond the fact that she liked his voice and smell and hands and that whenever she saw him she wanted to tear off his clothes and ride him hard on the polished wooden floor.

“i feel - a connection - with you,” she said.  “I feel - I feel as though there’s something _there_ , do you know what I mean?”

He was silent for a long moment, and she almost gave up on him responding, almost turned and put down her glass and crawled away to wallow in the humiliation of his rejection.

“Yes,” he whispered.  “Yes, there’s a connection, Belle.  I thought it was only me.  I never dreamed that you might...”

“But I do!”  She stepped forward, eyes wide, lips parted.  “I do!  I’ve never - I’ve never felt _anything_ as strong as this!”

Gold stared at her, the corners of his mouth turning upwards in a tiny, warm smile that made his eyes crinkle.

“Well, well,” he said softly.  “I think we can safely mark this down as one of those conversations I never expected to have.”

Belle returned his smile, cupping her brandy glass with both hands and inhaling the fumes, and he took a drink and set his glass down on one of the benches, turning back to her and flicking his hair out of his eyes.

“How shall we proceed?” he asked, and she pursed her lips, shrugging a little.

“Why don’t you kiss me?” she suggested, and his grin widened.

“Very well.”  He shifted his feet a little, and crooked a finger.  “Come here.”

Heart thumping, Belle took another sip of brandy to fortify herself, and put the glass down on the bench, stepping towards him, her breath quickening.  He laid his cane against the workbench and reached up with both hands to cup her cheeks, his eyes running over her face.

“You are so beautiful,” he whispered, and his thumb stroked over the pink softness of her lower lip.  

She could smell his scent, cologne and musk and a hint of salt, the warmth of his hands a pleasant sensation against her skin.  Stepping closer to him, their bodies almost touching, it was as though she could feel his aura stretching out and wrapping around her, pulling her close and making them one.  His fingertips brushed her ears and the sensitive skin beneath, and her breath caught in her throat as shivers ran through her.  She could see his pulse in his throat, the heavy thump of his heart making the skin throb, and she longed to run her tongue over it, to feel his heartbeat.  His breath was cool on her face as he bent his head, his thumbs stroking over her cheeks, and she felt a thrill of arousal go through her as he pressed his mouth to hers.

Belle moaned a little as his tongue parted her lips, his mouth wet and sweet with the warm taste of brandy, and she let her hands sink into the softness of his hair, deepening the kiss.  She pressed herself against him, her abdomen tightening as he groaned into her mouth, the bass rumble of it vibrating through her.  Gold was plucking pins from her hair, deft fingers unwinding the shining knot on the top of her head and running his fingers through her dark curls as they tumbled free.  His hands caressed the naked skin of her back and shoulders, fingertips stroking down the groove of her spine, and she gasped into his mouth, her hands sliding down his back and tugging him close against her.  She could feel the hardness of him pressed against her belly, and she realised that she wanted him, wanted to _feel_ him, wanted him to peel the silk from her and lay her down and slide deep inside her.

She let her hands slide around to the buttons of his shirt, plucking them undone, and he pulled his mouth from hers and stared at her, wide-eyed, his lips wet from their kisses.  Unsure if her touch was welcome, if he would want to be exposed to her, she bit her lip, suddenly nervous again.

“Is this okay?” she whispered, and he nodded, bending to kiss her once more.

She got his shirt open and pulled it out of his pants, the silk hanging free, and slid her hands inside to run over the warm, smooth skin of his chest and belly.  Gold groaned again as her thumbs brushed over his nipples, his jaw tightening, and she pulled her mouth from his and began kissing along his jaw and down his neck, her tongue swirling over that heavy pulse of his and tasting the salt of his skin.

“God, Belle!” he whispered, and she grinned against him, sinking her teeth into him and making him moan.

Belle kissed down his throat, lips trailing down onto his chest, breathing in the scent of him.  His breath was coming hard as she let her tongue wind around his nipple, Gold letting out a strangled noise as she did so.

“What - what do you want?” he asked, a note of desperation in his voice.  “What do you want from me, sweetheart?”

Belle sucked the nipple in between her lips, rubbing the tip of her tongue over the peak of it, and let it slip, hard and glistening, from her mouth.  She looked up at him, his eyes almost black with desire, his chest heaving and his hair rumpled and messy.

“You,” she whispered.  “I want you.  Help me out of this dress.”

Gold licked his lips, swallowing hard, his throat bobbing.

“I - don’t have any protection,” he said unhappily, and she grinned at him.

“Oh!  I do, I always carry some.  I mean it’s not like I’ve needed them in months, but you never know when a friend might, you know?”

She reached for her purse, opening it up and taking a couple of condoms from the little pocket inside, throwing them onto the ottoman.  

“There,” she said firmly.  “We’re all set, so get me out of this dress, Gold.  And careful with the damn diamonds, they’re not mine.”

Chuckling to himself, he turned her with his hands on her hips, and she held her hair out of the way while he unfastened the diamond necklace and laid it carefully on the bench.  She took off the earrings, passing them to him and trying to steady her breathing as he began undoing the row of tiny buttons at the back of her dress, his fingers nimbly plucking them open, the silk loosening as the dress parted.  She felt her breath catch as he began pushing it down over her hips, and she stepped out of it, bracing herself with one hand on the bench as he slid it off at her feet.  

He took a moment to slide the dress over a mannequin, fastening one of the buttons to keep it there before turning to face her.  Belle was suddenly, very aware that she was almost naked, a tiny lace thong the only piece of clothing on her body.  Any concern she might have felt about him not being attracted to her disappeared as he looked her over, his eyes dark and deep.  His gaze ran down from her breasts over the slight curve of her belly and to the triangle of cornflower blue lace that barely hid her sex.

“Beautiful,” he whispered, and held out a hand to her.

She fell into his arms, making him stumble, clutching at him to keep him upright with her, and his mouth met hers in a messy crush of lips.  Belle pushed the shirt from his shoulders, exposing a lean, smooth chest and wiry arms.  She kissed down his neck again, and Gold let his head roll back with a groan as she sucked at his nipples, her fingers plucking at the belt of his pants and pulling it open.  He reached up to cup her breasts, his touch warm and delicate, his fingers stroking over her skin and gently squeezing, and she unfastened his pants and pushed them down as his thumbs rubbed over her nipples, sending a jolt of sensation through her.

Gold had to sit down on the ottoman to take off his shoes and the rest of his clothes, and Belle climbed onto it to wait, her skin tight and tingling with anticipation.  The ottoman was firm and comfortable, the pillows plump beneath her head, and she wriggled on the silk throw, concentrating on the dull throb of desire between her legs, where she wanted him.  She tucked the condoms under the pillow, the plastic wrappers crackling a little.

Gold turned to her, still in his underwear, and ran his eyes down her body as he knelt at her feet, running his hands up her legs as he moved in between them, knees sliding up to bring him closer to her.  Her breath hitched as he leaned in to kiss her, hands bracing either side of her shoulders, and then he began kissing down her neck, tongue swirling against her skin, his lips pulling at her as he reached her left nipple.  He sucked the nipple into his mouth and Belle moaned and arched her back, fingers running through his hair as he sucked at her.  She could feel him hard against her thigh, and she longed to take him in hand, to feel the length and the weight of him, to have his hot flesh inside her.  

He kissed across to her other nipple, his hand cupping her left breast, fingers teasing and pinching, and she pushed her pelvis upwards, grinding against him and making him gasp.  His hand slipped down, stroking over the smooth skin of her waist, and he rolled to lie by her side, his fingers spreading in a fan across her belly as he pushed them down beneath her panties.  He groaned as he slipped his fingers between her legs, coating them with the wetness he found there, and Belle moaned as he touched her, fingertips flicking over her clit and sliding through her folds.  Gold let a finger push against her entrance, sliding inside her, and she moaned again, her fingers tugging and twisting at his hair in her excitement.  She could feel his breath against her ear, his lips brushing her skin.

“God, you feel so _good_ , Belle!” he whispered, sliding the finger in and out of her.  “So tight and hot and wet!  I want to get inside you, sweetheart.  I have to come inside you.”

“Yes!” she breathed, turning her head to kiss him.

He slipped another finger inside her, Belle moaning and lifting her hips as he did so, and the pad of his thumb rubbed over her clit, causing a delicious sensation.  She moaned into his mouth, circling her hips against him, his thumb flicking across her and making the feelings swell and build.  She pulled her mouth from his, almost panting. and he was looking down on her with desire in his eyes, his lips plump and wet from their kisses, his breath coming hard.  He continued to move his hand in a steady rhythm, fingers sliding in and out of her, thumb swirling in circles against the slippery flesh, and she could tell she was close, a rush of blood flushing her cheeks and stars forming behind her eyes as she neared her peak.

Breath whistling through her mouth, she broke with a sharp cry of pleasure, her head jerking up off the cushions, and he continued to work her, his hand pumping in and out of her as she lay back with a series of tiny moans.  He stilled, fingers inside her, and Belle relaxed into the cushions with a deep sigh, a lazy grin on her face and a light bloom of perspiration on her skin.  Gold withdrew his fingers slowly, his eyes fixed on hers as he slipped them into his mouth with a low sound of enjoyment that caused a tug of desire deep within her.  Slowly, he pulled the glistening fingers from his mouth, grinning at her, his eyes glinting wickedly.  

“Delicious,” he growled.  “You taste so _good_ , Belle.  God, I want to bury my face between your legs and drink you down!”

Belle reached up with an arm grown heavy with release, brushing his hair back from his face and smiling at him.

“Later,” she whispered.  “Right now I need you inside me.  Are you ready?”

Gold sent her another smug little grin, and she wriggled her hips as he tugged at her underwear, dragging the panties down her legs and off at her feet.  He took off his underwear, and she reached beneath the cushions to retrieve one of the condoms, tearing open the packet.  She grasped the hard length of him firmly in her hand, enjoying the smooth, heavy heat of it, and rolled on the condom, lying back as he moved between her legs to press up against her.

“Okay?” he asked softly, and she nodded, lifting her knees a little.

He began pushing into her, taking it slow, Belle lifting her legs further until he could sink all the way inside her with a deep groan of satisfaction.  She wrapped her legs around him, loving the feel of him within her, the weight of him pressing down on her, the scent of his skin and the smell of her own arousal on his fingers as he stroked her hair back from her face.

“You feel incredible,” he whispered.  “Oh Belle, I’ve wanted this from the very first moment.  The first moment I saw you!”

She wanted to tell him that she felt the same, that she had wanted him from the first, but he had bent his head and was kissing her, and she felt as though she was burning and drowning all at once, their bodies melting into one another, all heat and wetness and the heady scent of pleasure.  He had started to move, to thrust inside her, moving his pelvis in slow, languid circles, and she lifted her hips to rub against him, increasing the friction, building the sensations.  His body ground against her clit and she moaned into his mouth, her tongue stroking against his as they moved together.  He grasped her thigh, lifting it higher, pushing deeper inside her, and Belle gasped as he filled her completely, her knees gripping his sides just behind his arms, her breasts pushing against his chest.

“God, that’s amazing!” she breathed.  “Oh yeah, right there!”

She moaned as he thrust, his jaw tightening with the tension, with the effort of holding off his own climax.  She could feel it in him, waiting to crash through him, his entire body tense and taut and his muscles clenched with it.  He was rubbing against her just right, and she wanted to come again, _needed_ to come again.  She arched her back, moving against him, and reached for his nipples, fingers and thumbs rubbing and pinching.  Gold groaned in pleasure, his movements quickening, and his eyes shot open with a desperate, almost pleading look.

“Oh God, I can’t hold this, Belle!” he hissed.  “I’m sorry, I have to come!  I have to come inside you!”

“Do it!” she whispered.

He threw his head back with a loud groan of pleasure, pumping against her, and the pulsing feel of him coming dragged her with him over the edge, the throb in her loins matching his own, her cries joining with his as they jerked and thrust and she clawed his back with her nails.  Eventually they slowed, panting for breath, their bodies slippery with sweat, and Gold lay down on top of her with a shuddering sigh, his face pushed into her neck.  Belle stroked his hair, fingers trailing through the damp strands, her pulse throbbing in her throat as her breathing steadied.

“Wow,” she said softly, and felt him smile against her skin.

He pushed himself up on his elbows, grinning down at her, his eyes heavy and sleepy and filled with affection and lazy contentment.

“Wow, indeed,” he said, and kissed her.

She could feel him start to soften inside her, and he reached between them to grasp the condom and pull out of her, whispering his excuses as he pushed himself to his feet and groped for his cane.  She watched him walk naked to the rear of the room, where a door led to what she suspected was a bathroom, and she tilted her head to get a better view of his rear, grinning as she did so.  He closed the door behind him, regrettably cutting off the view.  

Stretching happily, she got up to retrieve her glass of brandy and then burrowed beneath the silk throw with a sigh, awaiting his return.  There was a distant flushing sound, and the noise of water running, and then he came back into the room, closing the door with a click.  She took pleasure in the distraction of his body as he came back towards her, his lean frame and smooth chest and the taut muscles of his limbs that jumped and pulled as he walked.  His hair was messy, rumpled and hanging in his face, and she shivered with desire, knowing that he would smell of her pleasure, and his own scent.  It made her want him all over again.

He picked up his own glass and slipped under the throw next to her, Belle wrapping herself around him to ensure neither of them fell out of the narrow bed.

“I have something larger and far more comfortable back home, you know,” he said, as she draped her leg over his and tucked her foot behind his knee.

“Maybe later,” she said, and sipped at the brandy.

He bent to kiss her, his mouth warm and sweet from the fiery liquor, and his tongue teased her teeth and lips, his mouth pulling at hers.

“I still want to taste you,” he murmured.  “I want to lick you and make you come, Belle.”

She grinned, her hands trailing up his side and causing him to shiver, and her tongue traced a small circle around the inner walls of his lips, making him growl in pleasure.

“We’ve got all night,” she whispered into his mouth.  “Maybe I can return the favour.”

* * *

Emma got to the shop the next morning at her usual time of eight-oh-five, wanting to go through her emails before opening.  She frowned as she noticed that one of the upstairs lights was still on, and muttered under her breath about Gold working all night again.  She made a mental note to get Neal to have a word with his dad before he keeled over from exhaustion.  Not that it would do any good; he hadn’t even taken a holiday since they had opened.  She had hoped that with Tink being taken on, he would have been able to relax a little, but as their client list grew, so did the work.  Perhaps she could persuade him to hire someone else.  They certainly had enough work for another assistant.

Mounting the stairs, she made her way into the main workroom in which he received clients, and was unsurprised to find a lamp still on and no sign of her employer.  He would no doubt be in the rear workshop, either sketching or pinning or with his head down in a pile of fabric.  It wouldn’t be the first time she’d found him like that.  She turned off the lamp and walked through to his workshop, heels clacking on the floor.

The first thing she noticed was the way the curtains were pulled, cutting out the light, a dim warmth coming from the side lamps.  A woman’s purse sat on one of the benches, and a pair of sky-high silver heels beneath.  Clothing was scattered across the floor: pants, shirt, underwear and socks, and draped over a mannequin was a familiar royal blue dress that she had watched slink along the red carpet of a movie premiere not twelve hours ago.  Emma held a hand over her eyes as she took a step forward, wincing to brace herself as the couch and ottoman came into view.

She would forever be grateful to whomever had suggested the silk throw for the ottoman.  Fingers parting to let her eyes peer through, she bit back a chuckle as she saw Gold, naked except for the throw draped across his waist and covering him to the knees.  Belle French was curled by his side, one pale arm stretched over the lightly-tanned skin of his chest, her dark hair spreading across his shoulder.  Both of them were sleeping, a tiny, contented smile curving the corners of Belle’s mouth.

Emma backed away slowly, her grin widening and set off towards the small kitchen, chuckling to herself.  Perhaps she’d give them a little longer.  Taking her father-in-law a tea tray when he was naked in bed with a hot young movie star was something she could see herself bringing up at Christmas dinner for years to come.  


End file.
